Thus Spake Luftmensch, Ep 2: A Sad Anecdote

Certain days have a habit of making you feel Unreasonably Happy, imbibing you with an optimistic Robert-Browningness, that Hakuna Matata kind of feeling. Today is one of those days as I walk with a Bounce in every step, giving away Free smiles to Boring strangers living their Boring lives around me. Thus I strut into my Destination, the administrative section, like the  Living Legend of Unrestrained Jollity, if ever there was one. I reach the lady I have an appointment to meet and greet her with a Beaming Gush, “Good Morning, Ma’am!”

But alas! The Lady Behind the Desk is like the genius daughter in Interstellar, she senses indications of Life, of some Form or Presence beyond her Desk, a Presence frantically waving its hands about, yelling at her warm good mornings, throwing down books and cellphones to catch her attention, but all to no Avail. She stares at her computer screen like someone Bewitched, trying to decode the Obscure Patterns made by the names on her Student Catalogue. Undeterred by the Gap of Communication engendered by the separate Worlds we were lodged in, I inquire with the utmost politeness as to the Status of my Document, which had been in a Process of Forwarding from Person to Person for so long that Nobody knew what the Document was; I would have walked away with the wildest Scrap of paper provided it was Duly Authorized.

Howbeit, she cannot and will not hear me. My hitherto confident demeanour Crumbles into an Existential Panic, mien Disintegrates, and the Philanthropic Spirit exhumes itself in a Self-denigrating Pungency of Collateral nerve damage and I am reduced to Nothing, a Nobody, like Emily Dickinson.

My requests henceforth become pleading, squeaking, and eventually having lost all hope in humanity and the skill of Communication, I add as a bitter afterthought, “Please?” The Word triggers an unexpected Chemical Reaction in her Brain, and alerted to the fact that the Presence Beyond Her Desk was actually a Being Possessed of the Highest Faculties and not merely a Chuntering Gibbon, she replies…

“Come on Monday”.

And she once again commences to Stare at her Computer Screen.

At the verge of Despair, I  hang on to the edges of her cubicle and Scream an earsplitting Scream intended to bring the Whole Edifice crashing down on the Woman’s person. As the Concrete Rubble descends on her Head and her precious Computer, she Pleads to me to Stop, to Refrain the Use of my Mind and my Voice thus in such an Exaggerated Execution of Fair Play;  nevertheless, I would look on at her Misery like a Screaming God and Grimace in between, savouring the Cataclysmic Retribution for dampening my Good Mood.

I walk away from the Progressively Crumbling office feeling Restored to my Old Gay as in Happy Self, as Cries of panic and terror Fade as I step out of the Edifice.

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